


Dwell in Lovers' Eyes

by Patrocool (all_the_homo)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Achilles and Patroclus - Freeform, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mythology References, Shakespearean Sonnets, Sonnet 55, War, basically song of achilles but in 1.5k words and with john and alex, inspired by Shakespeare, like a shit ton, over use of metaphors, this is like super fucking angsty, this might be kind of meta??? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_the_homo/pseuds/Patrocool
Summary: And like Patroclus, John let his Achilles relish in his glory, encouraged him even, and fought by his side, but attended to him so tenderly, foreseeing the future in which his lover would cripple under the weight of his pride.John just prayed that their story wouldn’t end as tragically.(He always knew it would, it was the last thought when the bullets tore through his chest, “My Achilles, please, do not try to avenge me.”)(But of course, his Achilles fell like Icarus, blinded by his achievements. The feathers fell away from his wings, one by one, until his body toppled into the sea. John wondered if his tears could fill the spot where Alexander fell, if that would make them join together once again in death.)(It turns out, the dead cannot cry, and John could never find his Alexander except for in the way Eliza rewrote his story and legacy. He knew it was never supposed to be, that whatever they had been was fleeting, but it still hurt.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So. Uh. We were doing poetry out loud in English, and I decided to do Sonnet 55 by Shakespeare as one of them, and then. This happened. Hope you enjoy.

_Not marble nor gilded monuments_  
_Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,_  
_But you will shine more bright in these contents_  
_Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time._

* * * * *  


John always knew Alexander would change the world.

He could see it in his eyes, the way fire sparked whenever he spoke, rapid fire and confident; or the way he took in his surroundings, soaking in information and learning by simply being; or even the way he clenched his fists, and straightened his spine ready for a fight. He was sharp witted, and endless pit of new ideas, and knowledge. A pure genius.

John loved Alexander more than words could say. He could put it in cliché phrases, or cute words, but it would do neither of them justice. It was like standing still in a hurricane, and knowing that the storm would never touch you, but the debris might. It was beautiful, and terrifying, and dangerous, but so very addictive, and Laurens was hooked like a fish. He’d follow Alexander anywhere, even to his own demise, if it meant the world would see how brilliant this man was, or even just to have Alexander’s hands on his body, his lips on his own, to have his eyes trained on him, to have that smile turned to him.

It was a dangerous game he was playing, one that meant death should they ever be found out. But they were so very careful, and they kept getting more and more entangled in the web of passion that they were spinning.

They were never meant to last, but what was? The moon waxed and waned, stone could be washed away, monuments fell with entire empires, not even time was truly a constant, not really. But Alexander, Alexander would last forever. His memory could not be washed away with this war, nor by the future. John could feel it, deep inside of him, Alexander was meant to last forever. He would be someone people centuries from now would recognize as a man who changed their new nation for the better.

John was almost just as positive that he wasn’t going to live to see the glory of his beloved Hamilton.  
__

  
* * * * *

_When wasteful war shall statues overturn,_  
_And broils root out the work of masonry,_  
_Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn_  
_The living record of your memory._

* * * * *  


Alexander was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. He fought like he spoke; quick, sharp and precise, planning at least three steps ahead of his opponent. John was reminded of a viper with the fast and deadly accuracy that Alexander used to fall his enemies, blood splattered against his tan skin and blue coat, his queue matted and dark. He had this wild look in his eyes, like a feral cat, ready to attack at moment’s notice. His body moved like an ocean current, fluid and swift, sweeping up anything in its path. The lives of British soldiers were just collateral damage to the bigger picture, and he was merciless.

John couldn’t help compare his rugged Hamilton to the great Achilles, whose downfall was caused by his own refusal to swallow his pride. Alexander, much like Achilles, became a different person when in battle; when he’d usually be sharp, yet understanding, caring and even sweet at times, he became this weapon, something without emotions who would kill without blinking an eye, and lavish in the bloodshed in the aftermath.

And like Patroclus, John let his Achilles relish in his glory, encouraged him even, and fought by his side, but attended to him so tenderly, foreseeing the future in which his lover would cripple under the weight of his pride.

John just prayed that their story wouldn’t end as tragically.

(He always knew it would, it was the last thought when the bullets tore through his chest, “My Achilles, please, do not try to avenge me.”)

(But of course, his Achilles fell like Icarus, blinded by his achievements. The feathers fell away from his wings, one by one, until his body toppled into the sea. John wondered if his tears could fill the spot where Alexander fell, if that would make them join together once again in death.)

(It turns out, the dead cannot cry, and John could never find his Alexander except for in the way Eliza [darling Eliza, who never deserved anything but the best] rewrote his story and legacy. He knew it was never supposed to be, that whatever they had been was fleeting, but it still hurt.)  
__

  
* * * * *

_‘Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity_  
_Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room_  
_Even in the eyes of all posterity_  
_That wear this world out to the ending doom._

* * * * *  


“I once read a sonnet that reminds me of you,” John had said once as they laid out in a field and stared up at the stars. He couldn’t remember how it happened exactly, but they were alone, just the two of them. Most likely scouting, or delivering messages, but Alexander had begged him to just put the tarp down so they could sleep under the stars. There was no one around for miles, so John agreed, and there they laid, John’s head on Alexander’s stomach, the two of them peacefully watching the sky.

Alexander had hummed curiously, and lightly tugged on John’s hair, a clear indication to continue, so he did.

“Shakespeare’s Sonnet 55. Do you know it?”

“I do. It’s one of my favorites, actually. Quite beautiful. About how his lover’s legacy would live for longer than anything else.” Alexander had paused, and then looked up at John like he had hung the stars in the sky. “My darling Laurens,” he said. It was all he needed to say. John understood.

John was made of memories. It was all he had left anymore. He didn’t know why he was left to wander when his beloved was gone. It didn’t seem fair that his story never got a happy ending, just like that of Achilles and Patroclus, of Daedalus and Icarus, of Hercules and Megara.

Heroes never got happy endings, they hit their peak, and then they fell. Crashed and burned. Got killed, or killed the ones they loved. 

John never wanted to be a hero, but he loved one, and that was a crime of which punishment was itself. 

So, he wandered aimlessly until he found someone who was still alive, who he loved dearly, one of his best friends.

Lafayette, locked away in prison back in Europe. He was a hero too, which meant he was miserable, so John went to him. Gave him as much comfort as someone like him could.

“Where is your Hamilton?” He croaked one morning, lips cracked and throat dry.

“Where is your Adrienne?” He shot back bitterly, staring at the wall.

“I do not know.”

“Well. Neither do I.”

Lafayette studied him, contemplating. “Why are you still here?”

“Do not.”

“Why are you still here, Laurens? You are no help to me, though I appreciate the company. Why have you not moved on?”

“Lafayette, stop, please.”

“Non, mon ami, I will not stop. You need to move on, it hurts me to see you like this.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You better figure it out, Laurens, because I am tired of you moping around in my cell. Only I am allowed to mope in here, this is my imprisonment, not yours.” He paused. “Though, in a way, it is yours as well. I apologize for being so harsh, but you need to go to whatever’s next.”

John didn’t answer for a while, and when he did, his voice was small, and scared. “I am afraid, Lafayette. What if he no longer wishes for me to be by his side?”

“Are we speaking of the same man?” He said, unimpressed. When John stayed silent, he softened. “Hamilton loved you,” Lafayette murmured, and John gave him a frightened look.

“You-?”

“Oui, I knew of your… Activities, and fondness for one another. I knew you both too well to not have noticed. And the Hamilton I know?” He smiled wistfully, and air kissed John’s cheeks. “Well. He will not be upset to see you, to say the least. Go to him.”

John rubbed his eyes, and nodded. “I think I understand now.” He brushed his hand over Lafayette’s head in a final farewell before sinking back into the shadows.  
__

  
* * * * *

_So, till the judgment that yourself arise,  
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes._

* * * * *  


Two bodies twisted together in the darkness, their hearts beating as one as their fingers intertwined. An Achilles, and his Patroclus, and the lives they have yet to share. 

**Author's Note:**

> a h ahah hah ah yeeeeaaaaah,,,,,,,, sorry???
> 
> interesting little factoid: all of shakespeare's sonnets that had romantic implications (including this one and "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?") were all about male lovers, which heavily implies that Shakespeare was in fact a raging bisexual. And, to make this even better, in the Renaissance age? They were pretty chill with gays as long as you didnt mix races. Who knew, amirite?
> 
> want to know more about shakespeare, or greek mythlogy, or the revolution? want to yell at me for making you have feelings? come talk to me on tumblr at patrocool.tumblr.com, on twitter @nb_lafayette, or instagram at @gaygreekgeek.
> 
> also i live for comments and validation


End file.
